The Case Of The Wandering Ocelot
by Red Witch
Summary: The Figgis Agency gets involved in more ways than one when Babou gets loose.


**Babou stole the disclaimer telling all of you that I don't own any Archer characters. Here's some more madness from my tiny little mind.**

 **The Case Of The Wandering Ocelot **

"Well Mallory's not coming in again," Lana sighed as she put down the phone in the bullpen of the Figgis Agency. Cyril, Krieger, and Ray were there as well.

"A blessing if there ever was one," Ray remarked as he casually read a magazine.

"Ray!" Lana snapped. "Mallory is in real pain."

"Well if she was here and discovered that both Cheryl and Pam were late we'd all be in pain," Cyril told her. "Specifically, in the ears."

"Because she screams like an alcoholic banshee," Krieger added. "I saw where you were going with that."

"I'm serious guys," Lana said. "Ever since Woodhouse's funeral last week she has become even more of a wreck. Archer being in a coma was bad enough but…"

"But now the only person she ever remotely trusted is dead," Krieger added. "Again, we saw where you were going with that."

"Ugh what a stupid, stupid, stupid day!" Cheryl stormed in with Pam.

"Nice to see you've finally graced us with your presence ladies," Cyril said sarcastically.

"Yeah God forbid we don't get here on time," Pam quipped. "To do all this huge pile of **nothing!** Besides it's Cheryl's fault we're late."

"No, it's Babou's fault!" Cheryl snapped. "My stupid ocelot ran away this morning."

"I told you to close the damn window!" Pam snapped.

"Well I wanted to air out the house!" Cheryl said. "The whole place smells like ocelot piss. I opened the windows to air it out."

"Wouldn't the screens on the windows stop Babou?" Lana asked.

"I didn't know you're supposed to put screens on windows!" Cheryl snapped. "Who do I look like? Bob Villa?"

"Within three seconds the damn thing jumped out the window and down the street," Pam sighed.

"Why would Babou run away?" Lana asked.

"Because it lives with _Cheryl_ ," Ray looked at her. "Why **wouldn't** it run away?"

"Good point," Lana admitted.

"I need you guys to go out and get my ocelot!" Cheryl snapped.

"Why **should** we?" Cyril asked. "Just call animal control to look for it. It shouldn't be that hard to find an ocelot in Los Angeles."

"You'd be surprised," Krieger remarked.

"But you need to get my ocelot back!" Cheryl pouted.

"I'm sorry Cheryl, but this is not our problem," Cyril told her.

"I'll pay the agency ten thousand dollars," Cheryl told them.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Cyril snapped to his agents. "Go get that ocelot!"

"Why **should** we?" Ray snapped. "It's her own fault that the poor thing ran away in the first place!"

"You really should have gotten rid of that thing a long time ago," Pam agreed.

"Preferably donated it to a zoo or something," Krieger added.

"And that's **him** saying it," Lana said. "Cheryl we're not looking for your ocelot."

"I'll give you credit for every hour you're out there looking for it," Cyril said. "And if you find it by six this evening I'll give you double!"

"Well what are we waiting for?" Ray shot up.

"Let's go get that ocelot," Lana said.

"Krieger get the net!" Pam called out as they ran out.

"Yup, yup, yup!" Krieger agreed. "Wait do I really need the hours? Oh, it doesn't matter! I get to hunt an ocelot!"

"Thought that would do it," Cyril groaned as they left. "Cheryl the best thing to do is to wait here and do…Whatever it is you normally do."

"Yeah, I got another problem," Cheryl pouted.

" **Another** one?" Cyril asked. "Gee what a shock."

Cheryl went on. "Now that Pam is off on an ocelot hunt I don't have anybody to take me to this stupid charity luncheon at the Grand Tuntwood that I promised my stupid board of directors I'd go to. And those things are **so boring** because they're filled with mostly old stuck up boring bats and there's not going to be nearly enough alcohol and I don't want to go alone!"

"Well that's not my problem," Cyril shrugged.

"I'll pay you another ten grand if you take me," Cheryl said.

"If we leave now we can arrive early and beat the traffic," Cyril got up. "So, is this lunch black tie or…?"

"No, you don't have to change," Cheryl shrugged as they left. "Now that I think about it, you might be one of the better-looking guys there."

"I will pretend that is a compliment," Cyril sighed. "So, is this lunch a sit down or a buffet or…?"

"I don't know," Cheryl sighed as she took a small vial out of her purse. "But I'm gluing up before I get there." She started sniffing it.

"Wonderful," Cyril sighed. "This is going to be a **fun** day."

A short time later on the streets of LA…

"Well this is a **fun** day," Lana said sarcastically as she rode in the front seat of the Rush van. "Just what I wanted to do. Drive around all day looking for Cheryl's ocelot."

"That woman is even more irresponsible than Archer," Ray admitted. "And that is a high bar to beat."

"Why does she still keep that damn thing?" Lana asked. "She doesn't even like it."

"God only knows what goes on in that woman's tiny deranged drugged up glue-soaked brain," Pam shrugged. "But at least we go out on a nice day like today. We finally got a case."

Ray groaned. "The Case of the Wandering Ocelot."

"This was not what I had in mind when I agreed to become a detective," Lana sighed.

"Really?" Ray asked. "Because when I first found out that was our plan, I assumed sooner or later we'd end up getting roped into tracking down Babou."

"Me too," Krieger agreed as he drove the van.

"I just thought it would be a lot sooner," Ray added.

"Me too," Krieger nodded. "Honestly I thought that would have been our first case."

"It is kind of a no brainer now that I think about it," Pam admitted.

"So is Cheryl," Lana sighed. "God it's going to take all day just to…"

"Found him," Krieger interrupted as a loud beeping sound was heard. "According to the tracking chip I placed in him he's down this street."

"You actually put a tracking chip in Babou?" Lana asked. "That's actually pretty smart of you Krieger."

"I told you. I had a feeling something like this was going to happen sooner or later," Krieger admitted as he drove the van down the street. "Looks like he's in that park."

"That's not a park," Ray realized as he read the sign. THE MILDRED M MILFBURGER MEMORIAL BIRD SANCTUARY.

"Babou is in **there**?" Pam asked.

"Yup," Krieger nodded.

"Oh, that can't be good," Lana winced.

Meanwhile across the city at the Grand Tuntwood…

"This is not good," Cheryl grumbled as she took a swig from a flask. She looked around elegantly decorated the banquet room. "No bar. No buffet. Nobody but us under seventy. Ugh…"

"What exactly is this charity for anyway?" Cyril asked as he escorted her in.

"How should I know?" Cheryl grumbled. "My stupid board of directors want me to donate a boat load of money. Apparently, we need some good publicity. You know? After the whole Tuntrado disaster."

"I remember that well," Cyril sighed. "There's got to be a sign around here that says…"

"Ah, there she is!" An older woman with high hair dressed in pink walked over to them. "Ms. Tunt good to see you. I'm Minerva Merkins. I'm the chairwoman of our little event."

"Merkins?" Cheryl did a double take. "As in…?"

"Merkins Insurance Agency," Mrs. Merkins interrupted. "I know. My late husband's company was in the news. And his heart attack when the company was bankrupted by the whole dreadful Long Water scandal. Thank God for life insurance! Am I right?"

"I was gonna say the thing about the fake pubic hairs," Cheryl told her.

"The **what?** " Mrs. Merkins asked.

"I'm sure she's heard all the jokes," Cyril gulped.

" **What** jokes?" Mrs. Merkins asked.

"The jokes about…" Cheryl began.

"Horrible tasteless jokes the media has made about your family tragedy," Cyril interjected quickly. "It's terrible what people in the news will say. So insensitive. Ready to make a buck or a sound bite out of someone's pain."

"Not that much of a pain," Mrs. Merkins admitted. "He was insured by another insurance company. As a Merkins I'm well covered."

"Excuse me," Cyril asked politely over Cheryl's sniggering. "But what exactly is this charity luncheon for? The Red Cross? Cancer? The Tinnitus Foundation?"

"No," Mrs. Merkins shook her head. "It's for a charity near and dear to our society. The Mildred M Milfburger Memorial Bird Sanctuary."

Back at that very same bird sanctuary…

Babou was happily licking the remains of a dead grey and blue bird. Actually, several grey and blue birds on the ground. What was left of them.

"Well," Ray sighed. "At least we don't have to worry about feeding Babou lunch."

"Probably the best meal that thing has had in months," Pam agreed.

Then there were some shouts. They turned and saw two older men in brown uniforms pointing and shouting at them. "They do not look happy," Pam observed.

"No, they do not," Lana sighed. "Krieger…"

"On it," Krieger took out a small tranquilizer gun and shot Babou.

"Rarrrr?" Babou fell promptly asleep.

"Get the ocelot and let's get the hell out of here," Lana said.

"Yeah it looks like Barney Fife over there is packing heat," Pam pointed.

"Grab Babou and go!" Lana shouted.

"I'm going! I'm going!" Ray picked up Babou. "Aww, sleepy kitty."

BANG!

"It's gonna be a **dead kitty** if we don't get out of here!" Lana shouted as they started to run.

"Relax Lana," Pam said to her. "That guy's shots are **way off**! He's more likely to hit something else than us!"

BANG!

"SHRIEEEK!"

A colorful bird fell to the ground. "See?" Pam pointed.

"Not the Pinkerton Patterned Speckled Dove!" One of the security guards screamed. "Bert you idiot! Put that damn gun down!"

"I got 'em Randy! I got 'em!" Bert called out.

BANG!

"SHRIEEK!"

"YOU GOT THE **OTHER** PINKERTON PATTERNED SPECKLED DOVE!" Randy shouted. "I **KNEW** THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN THE SECOND YOU GOT THAT DAMN GUN! GIVE ME THAT! GIVE IT TO ME!"

BANG!

"NOW YOU SHOT **ME** IN THE FOOT!" Randy screamed. "OWWW!"

"And I thought Cyril's aim was bad," Krieger remarked as they got away.

"GO! GO! GO!" Lana shouted.

Soon they were driving away in the Rush Van. "Well that went smoothly," Krieger said.

"No, that **didn't** ," Lana looked at him. "That was not smooth by _any definition_! That was extremely **bumpy** Krieger! Extremely bumpy!"

"Look the important thing is we got Babou," Pam looked at the ocelot happily sleeping it off in the back of the van. "And nobody got shot by Barney Fife. Except for Randy. And those birds."

Lana took out her phone. "Well I guess I should call Cheryl and let her know…"

"Hang on Lana," Ray stopped her. "It only took us thirty minutes to find Babou. Why not stretch that time a little?"

"You mean wait a **full hour** before telling Cyril we found Cheryl's ocelot?" Lana asked.

"To start," Ray said. "Maybe two? Or three?"

"Oh, I get it," Pam grinned. "Padding out the ol' hours. I'm in."

"All we have to do is bring Babou back to the agency by six and we get double," Ray reasoned.

"And this is the part where Lana whines about how immoral this is," Pam remarked.

"No, I'm good," Lana shrugged as she put her phone away.

"Seriously?" Krieger blinked.

"We get ten grand from Cheryl and get more hours for our detective's license out of Cyril," Lana said. "What's the problem?"

"Okay then," Ray said. "I guess we're all in agreement."

"But what do we do during all that time?" Lana asked. "We can't exactly drive around the streets everywhere with a drugged-up ocelot in the back of the van!"

"Why not?" Pam asked.

"Hang on," Krieger took out his phone. "I have an idea. I know a guy."

"This does not bode well," Ray groaned.

Back at the Grand Tuntwood…

"Oh, this does not bode well," Cyril sighed as Cheryl downed what appeared to be her fifth glass of wine at their table in front of the banquet.

"I'll say," Cheryl grumbled as she finished. "This wine has the kick of a newborn cabbage! Where the hell is the good stuff?"

"Maybe they'll bring up another vat of wine for you later?" Cyril grumbled.

"They'd **better!** " Cheryl snapped.

"And now," Mrs. Merkins was at a podium in the middle of the table. "A few words from our resident ornithologist Dr. Davenport!"

"I hope it is just a few words," Cheryl grumbled. "I'm hungry! When are they going to serve food at this dump?"

"This is your hotel," Cyril told her.

"Which means I should get served **first!** " Cheryl snapped.

Dr. Davenport, a well-dressed older gentleman in his seventies took the podium. "Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. We're all here because of our love for birds."

"I love birds," Cheryl spoke up. "Especially with barbecue sauce on them!"

"Cheryl!" Cyril hissed as the audience gasped. "People can **hear** you!"

"I don't **care** if people hear me!" Cheryl snapped. "This is my hotel and my banquet hall and I'm probably paying these losers so I'll say whatever the hell I want!"

She looked at Dr. Davenport. "Well, hurry up and make your speech so we can eat."

Dr. Davenport paused then went on cheerfully. "Today we are here to raise funds for that most noble of projects. The Mildred M Milfburger Memorial Bird Sanctuary."

"I can't believe her name is Milf-burger!" Cheryl giggled. "You know what that means right?"

"Mildred Milfburger was a woman of integrity," Dr. Davenport went on, ignoring Cheryl. "A woman of distinction."

"She was probably a woman of about two hundred pounds," Cheryl snorted. "I mean, MILF? _As if!"_

"She was a lover of birds and all wildlife," Dr. Davenport went on.

"Probably because she couldn't get anyone else to love her," Cheryl quipped.

Dr. Davenport turned on the projector. It showed a beautiful woman wearing 1940's clothing. "Mildred used her family fortune and name for the preservation of wildlife before her untimely death at the age of twenty-seven."

"Holy shit she was **hot!"** Cheryl shouted. "I take it **all back**! She definitely earned her name of MILF!"

"She was not a woman of loose character!" Dr. Davenport snapped.

"Oh, come on! With **that body**?" Cheryl pointed. "You know she had _something_ going on!"

"She was not that kind of woman!" Dr. Davenport said.

"How did she die?" Cheryl asked.

"In a very tragic plane crash," Dr. Davenport said. "On her honeymoon."

"Let me check this out," Cheryl used her phone. "She **did** die in a plane crash on her honeymoon."

"See?" Dr. Davenport smiled.

"But not with her husband," Cheryl read. "But with the pilot she ran off with stranding her husband on some island near Tahiti. I **knew** it!"

"You might just want to move on," Cyril suggested. "Just skip ahead Doc. Trust me on this."

"It says that the bird sanctuary was paid for initially by her husband," Cheryl went on. "And apparently an entire mariachi band she used to hang around with."

"Just **keep going**!" Cyril pleaded. "I know. I'm sorry. Just press on and get it over with and then she can present the check and everything will be fine!"

"I've saved the best for last!" Dr. Davenport said cheerfully.

"Your ritual suicide?" Cheryl grumbled.

"We have just acquired the last known flock of the rare Pufflehuff Partridges in the world," Dr. Davenport showed a picture of some very familiar looking grey and blue birds. "Our sanctuary is the last chance for these near extinct birds to survive and hopefully thrive."

"Then maybe we can eat them?" Cheryl asked hopefully.

"Now in accordance with our tradition," Dr. Davenport grinned. "Let us all make our favorite bird calls in celebration! And a one! And a two!"

That's when the audience erupted in a symphony of different bird calls.

"TWEEEET! TWEEET!"

"CHIR-CHUR KEEE! CHIR-CHUR KEEE!"

"KWAAK! KWWAAK!"

"COO! COO! COO!"

"WENK! WENK!"

Cheryl looked at everyone. "And people say **I'm cuckoo**!"

"And now we will have a speech from Ms. Tunt who will present us with a check for our bird sanctuary," Dr. Davenport said. "Ms. Tunt if you please?"

"Okay…" Cheryl went to the podium. "Looking out at all you people and how deeply devoted to your cause you are has made me realize something. I am so **not** giving any money to you weirdoes."

"Oh, dear Lord," Cyril groaned.

"Seriously? _A bird sanctuary_? In LA?" Cheryl snorted. "We have more pigeons per capita than Mexicans. And those guys founded this city!"

"Here we go," Cyril sighed as he grabbed his own flask and took a drink.

"I'm not being racist or anything," Cheryl said. "It's a fact. We stole LA from the Mexicans. Just watch any Zorro movie."

"And here comes out all the camera phones to record this," Cyril sunk lower into his seat. "I can hear the angry tweets now…"

"But this isn't about Mexicans. It's about pigeons. Which honestly the city is full of and we don't need any more. I'm talking about pigeons. Not Mexicans. Who are cleaner and don't make as many messes as pigeons do! In fact! We **hire** Mexicans to clean up the messes **pigeons** make! Think about that!"

"So many angry tweets," Cyril groaned.

"Ms. Tunt," Dr. Davenport explained. "The sanctuary isn't for pigeons. It's for rare birds."

"Oh, now who's **racist?** " Cheryl snapped. "Only **certain** birds are allowed to use the park and get rescued? That's segregation and I won't allow it!"

Cheryl paused. "Okay full disclosure, my ancestors did make a butt load of money in the slave trade way back then. And took advantage of a lot of Jim Crow laws. And broke a lot of Indian treaties. Both kinds. My family screwed Native American and actual Indians from India."

"Where are the exits?" Cyril sighed as he looked around.

"Hell, my grandfather built an actual underground railroad because he thought he could capture runaway slaves years after the Civil War ended," Cheryl went on. "And he was screwing anything with brown skin and a dress. Like all the time. My point is, I'm better than they are. I'm here. They're dead. **Winning!** "

"I should have gone with the others to hunt the damn ocelot," Cyril muttered under his breath.

"But this whole idea of giving money to you whack jobs for a bunch of birds sucks! I'd sooner give money to Ms. Archer!" Cheryl said. "And I **hate her**! No, wait I wouldn't give the money to her either. I'd give it to the **birds** before her."

"Cheryl…" Cyril gulped.

"Hang on," Cheryl interrupted. "I'd give money to Truck-A-Saurus and her stupid dumb baby **first**! Okay yeah, first Truck-A-Saurus and the baby. Then the birds. Maybe something else? And **then** Ms. Archer!"

"Truck-A-Who?" Someone called out.

"I know right?" Cheryl laughed. She did an impersonation of monster. "Arrgh! The point is, I'd sooner give money to her than you racist bird haters. Ooh! I can give money to Mexicans! Hot Mexicans! Hot Mexicans with margaritas. And strong hands!"

"But your board of directors promised us that money!" Dr. Davenport protested.

"What do you need money for?" Cheryl asked. " **Birdseed?** Birds eat **bugs**! Bugs are **free!** Duh!"

"No, not birdseed," Dr. Davenport tried to explain.

"What then? Perches?" Cheryl asked. "Newsflash. There are these new things called **trees.** And they're usually **free!"**

"No, we need the money for…" Dr. Davenport then noticed something. "Mrs. Merkins? What's wrong?"

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I have been given some tragic news," Mrs. Merkins looked shaken. "I have just gotten a report that the entire flock of rare Pufflehuff Partridges…Has been murdered!"

"Bird Law!" Cheryl snickered above the shock of the horrified crowd.

"Murdered? How?" Dr. Davenport gasped. _**"Why?"**_

"Apparently some hooligans let their pet ocelot loose into the sanctuary," Mrs. Merkins sobbed.

Cyril's eyes widened. "Oh, dear God no…"

"I'm afraid so," Mrs. Merkins said to Cyril. "And what's worse, a pair of rare Pinkerton Patterned Speckled Doves were killed in some sort of shootout."

"Hey that's funny," Cheryl laughed. "I have an…"

"Need to check the coat room!" Cyril said quickly as he stood up. "Yes, I agree!"

"The coat room?" Mrs. Merkins was confused.

"Yes!" Cyril said. "As the owner of the Grand Tuntwood Cheryl takes pride in every little detail. Including the coat room! Which we should inspect **right now**!"

"Who cares about the coat room?" Dr. Davenport asked.

"You'd be surprised," Cyril said.

"Yeah people are so picky on Vacation Guru," Cheryl groaned as she stood up. "Anyway, As I was saying I have…"

"Cheryl! Wait!" Cyril said. "Let's check the **coat room** before you say anything okay?"

"Jesus Cyril calm down!" Cheryl said. "I just wanted to say…"

"Coat room!" Cyril said quickly. "Really need to check out the coat room!"

"Yeah, I got it. Coat room," Cheryl looked at him. "Anyway, as I was saying that it's funny your birds were killed by an ocelot because…"

Cyril was desperate. He grabbed Cheryl and kissed her passionately.

"My word!" Mrs. Merkins gasped.

"They really do take coat rooms seriously," Dr. Davenport remarked.

Cheryl came up for air. "Ohhhhhh! **Coat room!** Was that our word for sex and I forgot it?"

"Something like that," Cyril groaned.

"Oh well then let's go do it," Cheryl pulled him away. "Who cares about these losers? Sex time! YEAH!"

Cheryl turned and then ran to the microphone. "He may not look it, but Cyril has an enormous dong! I mean **huge**! So…Yeah! I'm going to go have some orgasms! WHOO!"

"Whoo…" Cyril moaned as he let Cheryl drag him away from the horrified crowd.

Meanwhile, not that far away…

"Why are we at the Grand Tuntwood Hotel?" Lana asked as the gang emerged from the elevator.

"We're meeting our client here," Krieger said.

"What client?" Ray asked as he carried Babou in a cage.

"Here we are!" Krieger knocked on the room 303.

A very familiar face opened the door. "Krieger!" Adal Krieger shouted happily.

"Krieger!" Krieger grinned as he hugged his clone. "How's the animal control business?"

"Oh, it's a jungle out there," Adal said. "Literally. Hey Ray!"

"Hey Adal," Ray said.

"Ray? You **know** …?" Lana did a double take. "What the hell is going on?"

"How rude of me," Krieger said. "This is my clone Adal. Adal, Lana, Pam, and you know Ray."

"How exactly do you know Krieger's clone?" Lana asked Ray.

"Don't ask," Ray sighed. "Now why the hell did we bring Babou here?"

"Ah you brought the ocelot! Wunerbar!" Adal grinned. "Come, come."

"Phrasing on my tits…" Pam said as they walked in. A snarl made her take a double take. "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?"

Another ocelot was on the bed, shredding it. "Gala! No bad girl!" Adal admonished. "Bad ocelot!"

"Wait that's a _girl_ ocelot?" Pam asked.

"Hang on," Ray said. "Krieger are you **pimping** Babou?"

"If by pimping you mean using him as a stud to increase the ocelot species for the zoo and making a small commission," Krieger paused. "Then yes I am."

"But at the Grand Tuntwood?" Ray asked.

"I wanted it to be classy," Adal shrugged.

"Even though ocelots aren't technically on the endangered species list anymore," Krieger explained. "They're still threatened."

"How much?" Lana asked. "And I mean for the ocelot hookup."

"A couple thousand," Adal said. "But the cubs they have will be invaluable."

"So now we're **ocelot pimps**?" Pam asked. "That is literally what we are being asked to do here."

"Ugh, let's just get this over with," Lana groaned.

"Things **you say** to Archer when you have sex with him," Pam quipped. "Boosh!"

"Babou you are having the best day ever," Ray told the ocelot.

"RRRRRRRRR" Gala growled fiercely at Babou.

"One thing," Adal warned. "Gala is a tad aggressive for a female."

"How aggressive are we talking about?" Lana asked.

"Well…" Adal paused.

Several minutes later…

"Oh, dear God…" Krieger gulped. The Figgis Agency gang and Adal were hiding behind a slightly torn couch in order to protect them from the carnage. Adal was covered in a face mask and padding. The screams and roars and sounds of expensive linen being shredded was heard.

"Adal," Pam said. "You are so not going to get your deposit back on this room."

"Good thing I put this on another guy's credit card," Adal gulped.

"Let me guess," Ray sighed. "Lefty?"

"Lefty," Adal nodded.

"Who the hell is Lefty?" Lana asked.

"Don't ask," Ray and Krieger said at the same time.

"RARRRR! RARARRRR!"

SLASH! SHRED! SHRED!

"Wow," Lana gulped. "That is one aggressive ocelot."

"I've seen worse on the farm," Pam admitted. "Not that much worse but worse."

"You've usually done worse," Ray looked at her.

"That's true," Pam agreed.

"I didn't know it was possible for a female ocelot to assault a male like that," Adal said. "Learn something new every day."

"I can never unsee that," Ray shuddered. "Never, never, never…"

"RARRRRRRRR!"

"Run Babou! Run!" Adal ran for the door and opened it. Babou shot out of the door as if his life depended on it.

"WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT?" Lana shouted.

"The poor thing was obviously terrified," Adal said.

"He wasn't the only one," Ray groaned.

"He was not into that was he?" Krieger remarked as he glanced at the satisfied Gala licking herself.

"Maybe Babou is gay?" Pam asked.

"If he wasn't before he is **now,** " Ray remarked. "Not that I can blame him."

"It's bad enough we had to play Pimp Out My Ocelot," Lana remarked. "Now we have to catch him all over again! Come on!" She ran out the door.

Adal looked at Krieger. "I'm going to have to pay extra for this, aren't I?"

"Yup," Krieger said as he and the others ran out. "I'll send you a bill."

"He's getting into that elevator!" Ray called out.

"Well it's not like he can…" Pam began.

DING!

The agents skidded to a halt as the elevator doors closed before them. "Did I just see an ocelot jump up and push an elevator button?" Pam blinked.

"You did," Krieger blinked. "Damn. Babou is one smart ocelot."

"Great," Lana groaned. "Now we have to figure out how to catch an ocelot rampaging through a hotel."

"Relax," Krieger took out his mini tranquilizer gun. "I've got it covered."

"Something tells me you don't," Lana sighed.

Meanwhile…

"Oh my God Cyril that was amazing!" Cheryl giggled as she staggered out of the coat room, her clothes rumpled. "I'd forgotten how much fun your dick is!"

"The things I do for this agency…" Cyril groaned as he zipped up his fly. "I don't know why I do them. But I do them…"

"RARRRR!" Babou ran past them.

"What the…?" Cyril did a double take. "Babou?"

" **There** he is!" Cheryl said. "Bad ocelot!"

"There he goes," Lana was heard shouting.

"Hey guys!" Cheryl waved as the others arrived. "Guess who had sex in the coat room?"

"Hey Cyril," Ray said casually. "We found Babou."

"What are you doing here?" Cyril asked.

"We came to…" Krieger began.

"Bring you Babou in person," Lana said quickly. "What are **you** doing here?"

"Besides Cheryl in the coat room?" Ray asked.

"Wait is this that lunch you had to go to?" Pam asked.

"AAAHHHH!" Someone screamed. "THERE'S A WILD CAT IN THE ROOM!"

"Yeah," Cheryl nodded. "It's going a lot better than I thought it would."

"Come on!" Lana groaned as they went to check out the chaos.

People were running around screaming as Babou was running everywhere. Jumping on tables, making a mess of everything. "There is some kind of cat creature in there!" Dr. Davenport ran up to them.

"Duh!" Cheryl rolled her eyes. "It's my ocelot Babou!"

"Ocelot?" Dr. Davenport asked.

"Hey!" Pam pointed to the picture. "Those look like the birds Babou ate earlier."

"WHAT?" Dr. Davenport shouted.

"He's spraying all over the floor!" A man shouted.

"Yeah, he does that," Cheryl laughed.

"What's this about you having an ocelot that ate the Pufflehuff Partridges?" Dr. Davenport snapped.

"That can't be a thing," Ray asked.

"Well not anymore," Cheryl giggled.

"This is **your ocelot**?" Mrs. Merkins stormed up to them. "You're the ones responsible for the demise of the Pufflehuff Partridges and those other birds!"

"To be fair we're only like responsible for the partridges," Pam spoke up. "That security guy shot the other birds. What? We should get blamed because some other guy had shitty aim?"

"I knew you were a bad seed!" Mrs. Merkins screamed at Cheryl.

"Jesus what's **your problem?"** Cheryl looked at her. "You can't be on the rag. You're too old."

"SOMEBODY CALL SECURITY!" Mrs. Merkins shouted.

"Good idea," Cheryl giggled as she took out her phone from her purse. She dialed a number. "Grand Tuntwood security…It's Ms. Tunt. Can you do something for me?"

Five minutes later…

"AAAAHHH!" Mrs. Merkins screamed as a burly man threw her out of the doorway of the hotel.

She landed on a pile of other members of the bird watching society. "Well I never!" Mrs. Merkins shouted.

"Oww…" Dr. Davenport moaned. "Someone please get off my spleen."

Back inside the gang was drinking at the Grand Tuntwood Bar. "I don't see what you're so worried about Cyril," Cheryl said as she poured herself a drink. "Krieger just knocked out Babou. He'll be out for hours."

Babou was snoring on the floor nearby them. "He's had a busy day," Cheryl giggled.

"You just threw out one of the most prominent organizations in Los Angeles high society," Cyril blinked. "After insulting them, refusing to pay a check and having Babou eat some of their birds…"

"Yeah this won't bite us all in the ass later," Lana groaned.

"Relax," Cheryl waved. "If they try to sue me my company will just pay them off."

"What about the rest of us?" Pam snapped.

"Oh," Cheryl paused. "You're screwed." She took a drink.

"I am so looking forward to reading the society column tomorrow," Ray groaned as he took a drink.

"I'm looking forward to reading the want ads tomorrow," Cyril groaned. "Something tells me we're going to need them."


End file.
